Loosed, and everywhere
by Verbluffen
Summary: 10 years after the assassination of Uriel Septim spun the Empire into turmoil, unwilling leader of all Cyrodiil, Chancellor Ocato of Firsthold, is constantly at risk. Through several mistakes, he finds himself in a life-or-death situation, desperate to avoid the fate of his good friend a decade before.


_Turning and turning in the widening gyre_

 _The falcon cannot hear the falconer;_

 _Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;_

 _Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,_

 _The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere_

 _The ceremony of innocence is drowned;_

 _The best lack all conviction, while the worst_

 _Are full of passionate intensity._

 _\- W.B. Yeats_

 **4E10**

 **Elder Council Chamber**

 **The Imperial City**

Thirty robed politicians sat around a circular table of marble. Most of them were wearing flowing white garments, with red patterns embroidered around the collar and flowing down to their waists. The grand chamber of the Elder Council was filled with noise, voices reverberating off the walls. A man listened intently to the conversation taking place, of a political nature, concerning him, and matters relevant to the room was dark, lit mostly by torches on the pillars which encircled the council. They cast their light upon the grand table, carved with red diamonds and key patterns, the symbols of an older, more pleasant time. The torchlight created a slightly orange tint, and cast heavy shadows between and behind the pillars. Moonlight streamed in through the tall windows, through which the dark blue sky could be seen. The blue rays shone onto the floor, creating a circular pattern of faint light, contrasting with the more powerful fire coming from the wall. The man looked to the window, utterly exhausted and quite eager to get home after a long day in this room.

Facing the entire council was this man, or, mer, the caretaker of the Empire. Battlemage, Chancellor of the Council and Potentate, Ocato of Firsthold. And, make of it what one may, a High Elf. His face was wrinkled with age, his golden skin worn down by years of war, stress and politics. His hair was an oily brown, which flowed to the back of his head, a very fancy cut. His robe was red, with a delicate gold trim, marking his importance as the unofficial (yet somewhat official) dictator of the Empire.

It was not, of course, a role he had taken on enthusiastically. But the Empire was unstable, and needed a strong ruler. Though hesitant at first, exhausting all possible options to select a more capable and willing ruler, he had accepted the title of Potentate when Tamriel needed one most. And a capable administrator he had proven so far, at least, in his own opinion.

It was late into the night. Facing the council, he looked upon each face. Around the table, every councillor was visibly tired, many with bags under their eyes. Most of them were quite ready to leave and go home, and if they didn't, they might fall asleep at the table.

The Council had convened early in the morning, as always, to discuss the recent affairs of Tamriel. The threat of the Thalmor was rising, and though others may not have taken it very seriously, Ocato, an Altmer, knew very well what disaster could arise. The discussions led well into the night, as each councillor gave their opinion on the Thalmor and their apparent intent to seize power in the Summerset Isle and restore the Aldmeri Dominion.

An Imperial man was talking. Alessandro Cadari's voice echoed through the chamber, as the short, bald man spoke in length about the need for vigilance. He had been talking for some time, though it wasn't the longest monologue of the day. At this point the discussion had shifted to the breakaway Argonian state, which had recently seceded and invaded Morrowind, though failed to make any huge gains. Ocato decided to pay attention to what he was saying.

"... and in increasing excise taxes on goods and wares produced in Black Marsh, it will encourage domestic production in the Nibenay Basin, while damaging the export economy of the independent An-Xileel state. If we're lucky, this will also encourage migration of Argonians unhappy with the political repression."

"Councillor Cadari," interjected the voice of Rilasa Redoran, a Councillor from Morrowind. All eyes turned to her dark grey skin and piercing red eyes, which matched the color of her short hair. "Many products the Argonians excel in producing, especially fine jewellery, are shared by Dunmer industry. Putting sanctions on these wares will also damage the already fragile economy of Morrowind."

Cadari paused for a second, deep in thought.

"Well, only Black Marsh as a province would be affected by the tax."

"But we don't control Black Marsh," said Aedulf Kjalldarson, a Councillor from Skyrim. The stocky old man stood up, stroking his flowing white beard. "How are we supposed to impose a tax on something that doesn't really exist? It would be a law only in name."

"He makes a good point," Rilasa concurred. "The An-Xileel are adamant about self-sufficiency, and won't trade with us in the first place. Their independent merchants would be the only ones affected by the tax, which would harm their prosperity and therefore the prosperity of the Argonians within Black Marsh."

"And to expand upon what I believe the Councillor was about to say," Aedulf took the opportunity to speak. "The central state of the An-Xileel doesn't get much revenue from that independent trade, as sales taxes themselves are low, and most merchants don't even pay them. Their military may be on-point, but it's clear that they can't keep a firm grasp of their markets."

"Well then, let's provide incentives for said merchants to instead come to Imperial territory and conduct their business." Cadari suggested.

"It would be hard," replied Haytham, a Redguard Councillor. The Redguards didn't use last names, but he was often called Haytham the Silent, though it was a somewhat unfitting title. He was concise with his words, not quiet. His frizzy hair dropped to his shoulder in locks, and his rough black beard covered most of his lower face. His robe, unlike most, was a deep shade of brown, quite simple, actually.

"The An-Xileel impose strict rules on travel outside of Black Marsh, especially into the Empire. If we really wanted to help the Argonians without aiding the An-Xileel, we could actually reduce excise taxes and tariffs, so that they can make more money and the government won't get any kickback. Unless, of course, they raise taxes in response to the opportunity, at which point we'd just raise tariffs until they lowered them again. We're in a good position to play a game with them, and play to win."

"I like this idea," said Rilasa. "It would be a good opportunity to stick it to them, and make us more popular with Argonian merchants, as well as bringing them into our land."

Cadari and Kjalldarson concurred. At this point, Ocato was tired, and he knew the entire council was. He took it on himself to close the meeting.

"Thank you, Councillors," he proclaimed. "You can rest now."

He stood up to address the Council.

"Esteemed legislators, I'd like to congratulate us all on a productive meeting today. We've gotten a lot done in way of dealing with the current troubles. I personally believe the Empire is on the course to a bright and stable future, as long as our resolve is strong and our will is unfaltering."

Murmurs of "Thank you, Potentate" rippled through the Council. Ocato utterly detested it. He hated the formality of being addressed with such pomp, but no matter how much he insisted, the Councillors stuck to their regular procedure. He had given up trying years ago.

"The Council will convene again in two days, on Mondas. I hope we can expand upon what we've accomplished in the past... oh, maybe twelve hours."

"Twelve excruciating hours." interjected Filim, a Bosmer Councillor.

Ocato chuckled.

"Yes, quite. But worth it, or at least so says I. Anyway, I've held you here for long enough. The Council is dismissed."

Each Councillor rose from their seat and headed out the door in an orderly fashion. Some took a bit of time to pack bags that they had brought with them, or finish their late night dinner. Within a few minutes, all the Councillors were gone, and only Ocato and a few guards stood in the chamber.

For a brief moment, he pondered the future of Tamriel. The Red Mountain's eruption was still having major effects throughout Tamriel, and the secession of Black Marsh still posed great trouble to the Empire, though most of the council predicted its collapse within the next five years. The Thalmor were a growing trouble, having gained lots of influence during the Oblivion Crisis. Ocato had been relegated to Cyrodiil during the chaos, but most Elves he knew talked at length about how the Thalmor were responsible for saving the Altmer from the hordes of Daedra that flooded through the red gates of Oblivion. It was all folly, of course, but the Thalmor did a good job of convincing people.

"Fetch my personal guard," he said to an Imperial soldier standing dutifully by the chamber entrance. His white armor gleamed, even in the moonlight, and the gold trim sparkled. His suit had clearly been thoroughly polished before his shift. He marched off into the hallway, which, without the moonlight, was remarkably dark, the white walls awash with the orange and yellow tint of torchlight.

Ocato walked into the hallway, usually filled with Imperial bureaucrats going about their daily tasks, but now nearly empty, them all having gone home. Two guards came marching through, their armor a dull gray, but generally more sturdy than the ceremonial outfits of Tower guards and Watch Captains. Ocato had opted not to use the Blades as his personal guard at this point. He preferred to focus their resources on intelligence work and investigative matters. Plus, what greater honor could it be for a regular Watchman to be a member of the guard's personal detail?

"Potentate," one of them said, and the pair bowed. "It is an honor."

Ocato thought nothing of their humility, he just wanted to get home.

"Come on," he beckoned with his hand. "Let's go."

Their armor clanked behind Ocato as he approached the main entrance. The large wooden doors were reinforced with steel, and were nigh unbreakable, having proven themselves useful during the Oblivion crisis as Daedra like Scamps and Dremora had flooded the streets outside.

He stepped outside into the crisp summer night. A light breeze rolled through Green Emperor Way, blowing blades of grass and loose leaves across the pavement which encircled the White-Gold Tower, the tallest building in Cyrodiil. If one were to look up at it, they probably would not see its top.

The stars sparkled in the sky, in the shapes of constellations. Tonight, the Serpent was in the sky. Ocato wondered if this was an omen for something terrible yet to come. He pushed the thought to the back of his head, surely it was superstition. But now that the idea had been planted, he couldn't shake a sudden feeling of paranoia. Something didn't seem right. The day so far had been normal, just a regular meeting of the Elder Council, with substantial issues being discussed. But after a day spent inside a legislative chamber, being outside now made him feel... exposed. A bit like someone was watching him.

Looking with just his eyes, everything appeared fine. The doors to the Talos Plaza District lay ahead, with a long cobblestone road between them and him. Ocato began to walk home, trailed by his guard, who were vigilant of any possible thing that could harm the Potentate. Over time, all bad thoughts were filtered out.

On both sides of the road was a large field of grass that wrapped around the staircase leading to White-Gold tower. There were multiple doors along the walls, massive doors, leading to different districts of the city. From these door came cobblestone paths which cut through the grass towards the tower. Dotting the fields between the roads were tombstones and grave markers. If he had taken the time to count, Ocato was sure there would be at least a hundred. There were also small buildings in some places; mausoleums for dead family. When Ocato died, one day, he would be buried here.

Along the roads, flowers dotted the sidewalks. A whole plethora of beautiful colors acted as fences to keep vagrants from drunkenly stumbling into the graveyard. Numerous Oak trees hung over the tombstones, and moss seeped through the cracks of the cobblestone roads. Despite the chaos and destruction the Oblivion crisis had caused, nature had begun to take back the Imperial City, in much greater force than ever before. Vibrant green bushes grew in once barren corners; wild, colorful flowers bloomed from dead grass.

Sticking out from the sides of the road were small stone pillars, from which lanterns hung, illuminating the night and guiding travelers along the road. As Ocato walked along the road, he looked at the various monuments and shrines erected. On his left was a statue of Pelagius IV, father of Uriel VII, and a highly effective and capable Emperor. Then, to his right, Uriel II's stern face looked into the moon. A failed Emperor who never gone anything done, but he had a statue anyway.

As the list of Emperors began to run out, the Imperial craftsmen had turned to national heroes. Despite the protests of some diehard Tribunal loyalists, the Empire had erected a statue of the Nerevarine, with a plaque at the bottom of the statue talking at length about how this previously unknown hero saved Morrowind and disappeared soon after.

The last three statues were the most recent. They all stood beside each other on the right side, very close to the doors. Oak trees on both sides hung over the road, so it was a bit hard to make them out in the darkness, but once Ocato adjusted his eyes, he could make them out clearly. It was Uriel VII, Martin Septim, and the Hero of Kvatch.

Uriel looked solemnly into the distance, his gentle guidance and endless wisdom visible just in his appearance. Martin was holding the Amulet of Kings, which he had smashed ten years ago to become a Dragon, the very avatar of Akatosh, and defeat Mehrunes Dagon. He had given his life to save Tamriel, and his body now stood tall in the Temple of the Nine, a stone Dragon, watching vigilantly over the people of Tamriel.

The Hero of Kvatch looked remarkably distant from the Emperor and his son. Instead the hero stood looking the other way, with piercing eyes, gazing into the distance. Ocato hadn't talked to Tamriel's latest savior in a few years. For all he knew, the Hero of Kvatch was a soul in Aetherius. Whatever happened, the Champion of Cyrodiil had sort of dropped off the map in the years after receiving the title and the gilded armor that came with it. Must have been sick of all the attention.

After a good five-minute walk, the road ended, and Ocato walked up the steps as the two guards manning the door opened it for him. The huge gate swung open slowly, revealing a long path forward into the Talos Plaza District. Grey stone houses, grand mansions that were inhabited by the richest of Tamriel, with glowing green roofs carved from ceramic tile. The red banner of the Empire emblazoned with a black dragon hung off the sides of many buildings. Unlike the Elven Gardens or Market District, where crates and food littered the streets, the road was remarkably clean.

Bugs chirped as the sewer system's water flowed beneath his feet. In the distance, the sound of a violin could be heard, playing a sweet folk song. A soft female voice pierced the air, crooning a delightful melody. A rough male voice also bellowed, the song was apparently a duet. Ocato listened intently for a few moments, trying to figure out what exact song it was, to no avail. A small crowd cheered following the performance, as he walked down the steps and through the large arch that led into the district.

After passing a couple houses, he came to the massive town square, which was filled with nobles and other people. The square was the District's public forum, where the rich came to talk and the poor came to beg.

"Potentate," One of Ocato's guards interrupted his observations with a tone of caution in his voice. "It would probably be best to avoid causing a stir at the forum this late at night."

Ocato frowned. He didn't like how his guards were always overly concerned about him. There didn't seem to be any threat. But the man had a point. There had been plots to take his life in the last few months, and there were well-founded fears about Ocato's life.

He looked at the small crowd gathered near the Dragon statue in the center. Guarded by pillars shaped like a wayshrine, the monument to Akatosh had been around since the city was taken from the Ayleids. People in fancy outfits were clapping and cheering. Ocato could hear music.

"I understand your fears," Ocato murmured, eyes fixed on the crowd. "But I want to see what this is."

The guard nodded and the other one followed, as Ocato flipped up his red hood. A quality hood could help keep his profile low, especially considering that the people here weren't exactly well-acquainted with Ocato, who spent most of his time in the White-Gold Tower or abroad on diplomacy trips.

It worked, and the guards trailed him distantly, keeping a vigilant eye out for anything suspicious. Ocato knew the guard had a bad feeling about letting the most important man in the Empire just casually stroll in a highly-populated area without high protection. In fact, Ocato himself wasn't sure. Again, something didn't quite feel right. There had been no symptoms of an abnormal day yet, but there was a lingering presence in the back of his head that said something was wrong, though he couldn't analyze it at all. Not yet. For now, he just found himself drawn to the music.

Ocato pushed through the crowd, whispering 'excuse me' and 'sorry' as he made his way to the front. One burly Nord man stopped him, and laughed.

"By the Nine," he exclaimed. "It's you!"

Ocato suddenly felt very timid. The man had a drunken smile on his face, and Ocato could smell the mead in his breath.

"No, uh, sorry sir," Ocato answered shyly. "I think you have me confused with-"

"No, no, I know it. I know who you are."

Ocato gulped. He eyed for his guard. This was a mistake, and he felt a great deal of frustration with himself for doing this. The guard was nowhere to be found. But all his fears were absolved when the Nord laughed again.

"You're Sinderion! The alchemist who did those experiments with Nirnroot!"

Ocato was bewildered. Sinderion? The elf from Skingrad? He had seen Sinderion speak, and personally didn't think he looked anything like the alchemist.

"Well, uh," Ocato stammered. "Just keep it low, okay?"

"Of course, of course!" The Nord gave a hearty laugh. "Just between us, eh? It's our secret."

"Yes, yes... excuse me."

Ocato pulled his hood down tightly and finally reached the front. That was a close encounter, and it didn't make him feel good. He didn't exactly have good feelings about being there in the first place. The last attempt on his life had been in the Market District, in a very public spot. Some damned fool with an axe, who was foiled by a shopkeeper's swift draw of the blade. Ever since then, the guards had always wanted to keep him away from the public, funneling him in between narrow alleys and streets, just to avoid people. The only time he ever mingled with the general population was for speeches and necessity. This didn't help with the negative feelings he got, the suspicion that something wasn't quite right.

Regardless, Ocato didn't have time to focus on that. He instead decided to pay more attention to the music. The band was composed of four people. There was a Bosmer playing a fiddle, a Redguard beating the drums to a smooth but quick beat, an Argonian strumming a lute, and the sole woman, another Bosmer, dancing, though presumably she was the singer whose voice Ocato had heard before.

The band was dressed in cheap clothes, breeches and suspenders. The woman's hair was rough and long, and the Redguard had short, frizzy hair. The Wood Elf's was relatively unkempt, while the Argonian had no hair, just fins.

Shining gold coins littered the ground in front of them. The crowd must have really liked the band, it was at least thirty septims they'd made that night. They were player a faster rendition of a well-known folk song, which Ocato could now recognize. It was a tune he knew well. _Ithguleoir_ , a lovely ballad about a dreaded monster eating its hapless victims alive. The Elf on the fiddle was playing the main melody of the song at a lightning fast pace, as the drummer and lutist played away just as hard.

The dancer hopped to and fro, encouraging others to move with her. A couple of children moved wildly to the music, knowing nothing about dancing but most likely just glad for the opportunity to stay up so late. One child flailed his arms, and spun straight into his father, who laughed and gave him a hug.

The instrumental section winded down, as the dancer slowed down and began to sing with a sweet and calm voice, completely unaffected by the intense athletics being performed a moment ago. It's like she had taken a breath deeper than any taken before, for if any other person tried to do that, they would sputter the first line before kneeling down and regaining their breath.

 _"Oh, how we mourn our good man Thom,_

 _Who swore he'd catch the beast!_

 _Ithguleoir ate 'im whole,_

 _And then he ate the priest!"_

The crowd chanted "and then he ate the priest" a second time. Ocato laughed, as he remembered his days as a young man in Firsthold. No one knew, but he, for a brief time, was part of a bard troupe. Almost fifty years ago, it was. But he cherished those days. He played the flute for a good three years in the Almoths, a play on Alinor. They never got anywhere but a few taverns, but those were fun days nonetheless.

Ocato cheered with the rest of the crowd as the song finished with a solo piece on the fiddle, and fished out his coinpurse. He wanted to be discreet, but also wanted to make this night worth it for the performers. He took upwards of fifteen coins and scattered them along the floor, before gently pushing his way out of the crowd.

After a minute, he was free from the group, and leaned against a building a few feet away. He was happy, this was a good night. The exhausting politics of the day were immediately wiped from his mind in favor of those cheery minstrels, making the crowd happy. He was thoroughly exhilarated from his encounter with the drunken Nord who had mistaken him for someone else famous. Ocato briefly wondered if Sinderion was ever mistaken for the Imperial City politician who now ran the country.

Most of all, Ocato was surprised that nobody recognized him. He'd expected at least one person to stop him and ask him some questions, but nothing. Sure, his name was out there as basically the Emperor, but if Uriel Septim had dressed himself in rags and visited a village on the Gold Coast disguised as a peasant, would anyone recognize his voice or his face? No, because unless you've seen or met him, you wouldn't know what he looked or sounded like. Ocato felt a small bit of glee that he was at least able to appear like nothing special.

But something still unnerved him. For all that time, he had felt like something was wrong. Like someone was watching him. Even though he was sure that nothing was amiss, there was a feeling in his gut that he couldn't quite shake. It had been present since he had first stepped outside, returning in brief periods, then quickly forgotten by the happenings of the moment. For every happy moment thus far, there was a remarkably abrupt change of tone the second he thought about danger.

"Potentate!" Ocato's thoughts were interrupted by one of his guards approaching him, out of breath. "My... apologies."

The guard stooped down and started breathing heavily. He had been running in armor. Ocato felt a twinge of guilt for leading the guards on a wild goose chase to find him.

"Oh, Gods, man. I'm sorry," Ocato sighed. "I should've kept you with me."

The guard was silent, obviously unconditioned to Ocato's attitude. He was probably used to Watch Captains screaming about the tiniest mistakes. Ocato looked around. The band was now on a more slow-paced song, but the second guard was not visible to him.

"Where's your partner?" Ocato asked.

The guard stood up and took a deep breath. His face suddenly turned to an expression of sheer panic.

"I... don't, uh," the words came out slowly. "I can't... I don't know. He must have gone somewhere."

This worried Ocato. The personal bodyguard of the most important man in the Empire should not just go missing at random. This only reinforced the feeling he'd had since stepping into Green Emperor Way. As fine as things seemed that night, something just wasn't quite right. Like small components of a puzzle were coming together to form a bigger picture.

"I want you to search for him," he directed the guard. He wanted to at least be optimistic, so he added in his own reassurance. "Probably just got lost or something. I'm close enough to my house from here to make it without your help."

The guard nodded, and with a murmur of "Yes, Potentate'" ran off to go and search for his counterpart. Ocato appreciated the man's dedication, and made a mental note to get to know his guards better in the future. But even so, two just didn't seem like enough. Emperor Uriel had traveled with a convoy of three incredibly talented Blades, and still he ended up with the dagger in his back. Perhaps safety could only be reached when he was entirely covered in guards. What a way to live.

Ocato's house was just around the corner, so he decided to head off. The performers were closing up their act now, and soon the crowd would dissipate, unless some other act got on stage. Unlikely, though in recent memory, some street performances had gone on to sunrise before. They were usually worth it.

He cut across the Plaza, passing a bookstore on the way. Shops typically went in the market district, but Jean Arsenault had personally taken it upon himself to persuade the city administrators to let him open up his business in a very affluent part of the capital. There were some famous books in the window, such as the Wolf Queen series, Aevar Stone-Singer, a Bosmer folklore collection, and in a very large and expensive edition (forty septims!), a single-book compilation of Mankar Camoran's "Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes". The Mythic Dawn propaganda had burnt up the market in the days after the defeat of Mehrunes Dagon, with many citizens trying to understand and get a grasp on what exactly had set the stage for the events of that year.

Taking a left, Ocato passed an upper-class restaurant, another exception. Unlike many other shops, they were still open, and the venue was still packed with rich diners staying up late. The building itself was just a stone wall, behind which the kitchen could be found. That's where you ordered. Most of the land was actually taken by iron tables and chairs, encircled by an ornate fence with very fancy design. Near the gate, which stood open, a plague mounted the fence.

 _"WELCOME TO ALLECTO FRATELIO'S EXQUISITE RESTAURANT: ONLY THE BEST HERE!"_

The smell of fresh food wafted its way from the oven and into the air. The delightful scent of bread, just taken out of the oven. Various spices, and smoked meat. Bagels, smothered in a paste made from fine artisan cheese. He could even smell the red wine, Surilie Brothers' finest. Simply delightful. Ocato had visited Allecto's restaurant several times; truth be told, it was some of the best food he'd ever had. Imperial City culture was, naturally, more more refined and bourgeois than life in, say, Cheydinhal or Bravil.

Allecto and Jean Arsenault weren't the only ones with stores in Talos Plaza, of course; in fact, there were quite a few storefronts to be found. Most of their owners didn't have to go through the regular processes, owing largely to their good relationships with the people in charge. Allecto Fratelio himself came from an artisan family, which had several members in the city's local government. The Fratelio family had a history in the place that went back decades, and they went to great lengths to ensure the survival of their business.

Great lengths.

Ocato would have loved to order some food, but the line was incredibly long, stretching from the counter almost all the way to the gate. The tables themselves were filled, too. He would have to go tomorrow, when things weren't as busy. The smell was almost enough to change his mind, but not quite. Either way, he didn't want to be spotted, lest some vagrant drunkard unhappy with his state try something on the Potentate when he was without guard.

He kept on strolling along the street. He was almost home. But something wasn't right. Despite telling his guard to go find his comrade, he should have returned by now. It had been quite a few minutes, of walking countless blocks and passing many different people's houses and stores. Sure, the District might not be the most navigable (you could tell where you were anywhere in the Market District from the signs on the stores), but someone should have found him by now. Instead of blaming himself for sending off his guard, he figured that it was their fault for not being able to keep good track of the most important man in Tamriel.

With this carefree attitude that, deep down, Ocato wished he didn't hold, he kept walking. Now several blocks away from the restaurant, on a street of pure houses, he suddenly tripped, and stumbled a bit. He turned around and saw nothing, before feeling a tug on his robe.

Ocato looked down. Staring up at him was a ragged old man, dressed in a tattered robe. His eyes were grey, but looking into them, Ocato could sense a great deal of sadness. He was wrinkled, and his face covered in dirt; the fingers that clutched Ocato's fine robe dirty and cracked, the fingernails long and chipped.

"Please, sir," the old man croaked. "Could you spare a penny?"

Ocato felt pity. He had no idea what a homeless man was doing in the Talos Plaza District; beggars like these usually confined themselves to the Waterfront. But he couldn't just say no.

"Please," the beggar insisted. "I ain't got a family, nor a kid or a dog. I jus' need to feed m'self."

Ocato drew his coinpurse and handed the man five septims.

"Poor soul," he lamented gently. "Buy yourself a meal."

The man's eyes brightened. He was clearly delighted, and probably hadn't been like that in awhile. He fell to the ground, kissing the pavement beneath Ocato's feet. He wasn't used to having the floor kissed before him, usually that was a metaphor.

"Thank you, thank you," the poor man cried. "You have made things so much better."

Ocato smiled. It felt great to make someone so happy like this.

"It's good to hear that," he decreed. "I hope we'll meet again sometime."

He was about to walk away, when the beggar sat back up. His eyes were wide, and his pupils had shrunk. His face was suddenly expressionless, staring off into the distance. The man suddenly snapped back into consciousness. He fell back, catching himself with his arm.

"I... I think, maybe... I..." he muttered and started convulsing on the ground.

Ocato didn't know what to do. He rushed over and knelt above the man.

"Oh," the beggar groaned in pain, as he shook violently. "I think not..."

And suddenly, the convulsions stopped. And so did his breathing. The man was dead.

Ocato was chilled to the bone. Something had not been quite right the entire evening, from the crowds to the disappearance of both his guards. If there were any clearer a sign that something was wrong, this was it. A dead beggar, who moments ago seemed quite alive, and very jovial. And yet there he lay, after only a few moments of seizure.

He did not like this feeling. And without his guards, he felt slightly scared. He looked at the man's grey eyes, which now again stared endlessly into the distance, and closed his eyelids. Folding the man's arms on his chest, Ocato picked a flower from a grass patch next to the curb on which the man had sat, placing it on the dead beggar's head. It was a tradition in Firsthold, where Ocato was from, to place flowers on the heads of the dead. It was a sign of respect.

Ocato took the coins back and put them into his purse. He rose, looking cautiously around himself. The streets were empty. All the residents of nearby houses had gone to sleep. There was no sound of crowds in the distance, no cheery music playing. Just silence, and the chirps of the crickets. The light breeze that had rolled through an hour before had subsided, leaving the air quite temperate.

At this moment, Ocato decided to hurry home. It was only a block away, quite a grand house, separate from the rest in its size. It wasn't quite a mansion, but it had three floors, and a large backyard full of all sorts of plants. If everything was normal, his personal guard would be there to greet him upon entrance, welcoming him home and preparing his bed for what would probably be a restless sleep.

He was tired, sure, but Ocato felt compelled to keep a brisk pace. There was no explicit sign of a threat to himself, surely not. Just a gut feeling mixed with the oddly-timed death of a vagrant. But deep down, he was worried. Very worried. He was used to being surrounded by guards, and now he heavily regretted sending that last one away.

As he walked home, he heard a rustle in a bush to his right. He turned to face it, looking very closely. He could see that it was nothing, and that the noise was probably caused by a small animal. But it didn't help, not one bit.

Frogs croaked in the small pond nearby, which a large willow tree hung over. He looked to the left, down a long and winding street filled with houses. The road was completely empty, save for a single dark figure, barely illuminated by the dim lamplight (most were turned off at this hour). It was many yards away, and surely was just another commoner going home after a long day. Surely.

After awhile, Ocato made it to his home around the north-west side of the District. He was still a very far distance from the city walls, just barely enough to see their tops from the roofs of the houses. But compared to other residents, he was located quite close to the barrier, which had something to do with evacuating him if anything ever went wrong.

Indeed, there was a tunnel dug underneath Ocato's house that only he and the Blades knew about. It was musky and damp, but it led all the way outside the city and then some, if one was willing to make the hour-long journey themselves. So far, it hadn't been used in such a situation before. Hopefully it wouldn't for a good long while.

The house itself was grand; it shared the general architectural design of most residential spaces in the city. Grand Colovian architecture with the Ayleid touch of dull squareness. The roof was made of ceramic tile, painted a bright green. Unlike most houses, there was a ladder installed inside that would let Ocato onto the roof, so he could stand above the District. The roof was higher than any building in the Talos Plaza District, higher than even the grand Dragon monument in the town square. It paled in comparison to White-Gold Tower, of course, but it was something.

The entrance only led to one half of the house; a three-story tower with a loft at the top, connected to it was a long overpass which led to the second half, a larger building. That was where Ocato's bedroom, kitchen and most rooms he used personally were located. The first part was mostly for looks; trophies, books, and the like. Under the straight overpass was a large cobblestone arch, bending itself to both sides and supporting the building's standing up.

Under the pass was a paved stone road, which linked directly with the main roads of the District for horse and carriage use. The yard was located to the right of the second half, an iron fence separating it from the road and other buildings. The door to the tower was an imposing oak wood barrier, with eloquent carvings and inscriptions, separated by reinforced steel which helped sustain the door's endurance.

As Ocato approached the house, he noticed that the lights in the loft were on. Not only those, but the ones in his bedroom across the overpass, too. Was it just the guards, who had returned home after finding each other and waited patiently for their master to return? He certainly hoped so.

Ocato took his key from his pocket and inserted it into the door, but there was no need. The door was already unlocked, so he put it away and just turned the knob to let himself in. Stepping in from the warm midsummer's night, it was remarkably cooler inside the house. He took off his hood and looked around, letting the door click shut behind him. The red carpet leading up to the staircase on his right was embroidered with gold patterns, much like his robe. Along the wall were bookshelves, flags, paintings and other assorted items. Everything was normal.

But one thing that was not normal was the lack of any people inside.

"Hello?" Ocato called through the house. "Guards, are you present?"

Typically, a guard would be there to greet him at the door, or when he got to his room. There was no one there this time. Something was not right. And at this point, he knew it. Not only was there a general uneasiness, there was a legitimate fear now. What dark thoughts that had once tread at the back of his mind now dominated the front.

He made his way up the staircase cautiously, clutching the railway. He got to the top of the stairs, reaching the foyer, which connected to the overpass leading into the other half of the house. The candles up here were all lit. The overpass was brightly illuminated, the yellow light casting itself over the deep blue carpet. And on the carpet, in the middle of the overpass, was one of his guards.

The guard lay face down, as patterns of red stained the carpet around him. He hadn't noticed at first, but there was also blood on the walls. The dead man was still in his guard uniform, except with the back plate, which had been taken off to reveal a red shirt. Except, on further examination, Ocato realized that the shirt itself was not red. That was blood. His back had been pierced with many, many daggers. Ocato approached slowly, rapidly switching the focus of his eyes from the body to directly in front of him, assessing the danger.

There were at least ten knives lodged in the man's back. They were all different shapes and sizes, from butcher knives to straight-carved Imperial daggers to the jagged Nord and Orcish combat knives. They sank into his entire back, from the collarbone to the pelvis, to the arms. This was one of his guards, and though Ocato had not paid attention enough to them at first to know which of them it was, he had a suspicion that it was the one who had gone missing in the first place.

This part of the house lacked any weapons. The tunnel to the outside was located in Ocato's room, across the overpass. Ocato carried only a small knife on him, which he didn't think would do against even a minor threat, but he carried it anyway.

He walked closer to the body and knelt down, feeling the skin on the arms. It was stone cold; the man had been dead for at least an hour. He avoided getting blood on himself, before drawing one of the daggers out of his back. It made an unpleasant _ssshhk_ sound, as blood dripped from it and onto the ground. Ocato used his robe to wipe off the dagger. For such a situation, he didn't even care how he looked.

Ocato's first instinct was to flee. He had picked up that particular knife for self-protection; it was forged from a steel that looked strong enough to handle itself, and the blade was longer than most, hopefully enough to cross paths with a sword.

He ran downstairs after picking up the knife, thumping down each step as he flew to the bottom. He ran to the door and slammed himself against it, trying to turn the knob at the same time. He grumbled in frustration as it wouldn't open. Of course it wouldn't. The door had locked itself behind him. Whoever had set this up was a genius.

Ocato cautiously ascended the stairs again to the overpass. The body was still there, and still fresh. He stepped forward slowly, walking down the candle-lit halls. There weren't many doors on the side to his bedroom, most of them leading to guestrooms. He searched all of them for a few minutes, prepared at any moment stab whatever maniac had gotten into his house and murdered his guard, or guards.

Finally, he reached his bedroom. This was it. The hall was near-dark by now, though a faint light shone from beyond the door, which lay wide open. All Ocato had to do was turn right and see what happened to his other guard. Or, at least this he deduced. If there was anything to be found of his last guard, it would most likely be in here. As well as the perpetrator.

Ocato gathered his strength, and rushed around the corner, leaping forward into his personal bedroom with his knife. There was only one light lit. A candle at his desk, which was located directly opposite him as he entered the room. Slouched over the table was the naked and headless body of his second guard. He was spared the displeasure of the man's private parts, as the desk covered them. But blood splattered the ground below the desk, as the red fluid still dripped from the headless torso.

The head was nowhere to be found. Ocato looked around. The rest of the room was so dark, he couldn't even see the few feet it took to get to his bed. He pointed his dagger towards the darkness, and listened intently.

Silence. Pure silence, not a single sound. Not even the blood dripping onto the green carpet of his bedroom, not the breeze outside, not the breathing. Only his own heartbeat.

"Well," Ocato stammered nervously. He decided to be calm and rational about this. As much as he could be. "If you intended on scaring me, you've done a pretty good job. You can come out now."

He looked around for a few moments in silence. For a little bit, he doubted the perpetrator's very presence in the room. Maybe someone had brutally murdered his guards then left? A warning to him, perhaps? But for what?

It couldn't be so. No one would go through such intricate trouble as to set up this kind of scene. Would they? Ocato's mind raced with possibilities, briefly considering who could possibly want him dead.

He looked above his head. The chandelier was dark. He approached the desk, stepping carefully around the bloodstains on the ground. He picked up the candle and moved into the darkness, slowly, holding his knife out the entire time, pointed towards whatever possible threat may be lurking.

Ocato reached the bed. The red sheets were spattered with blood, a darker shade that didn't blend in. Resting on the pillows was the other part of the guard's body. Two eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, while the once-white pillows were now a deep crimson.

"Where are you?" He found himself asking, to no one in particular. Ocato addressed the darkness, and the darkness did not respond.

His heartbeat rose. He felt the tension, the suspense. If this were a murder mystery, this was the final component of a masterpiece. And he didn't want to know the part he was supposed to play.

The words he had spoken just moments ago suddenly felt hollow and meaningless. There was no one in this room. Yet still, someone was watching him. He panned his eyes around the room. There was no one hanging from the chandelier. The bed was solid, so you couldn't hide under that. There was no one beneath the desk.

Yet there was no relief in the possibility that the murderer had left. Only more fear. Then, as if the Gods felt the need to affirm his fears, the wooden door to his room swung shut. The window was closed, this was not the breeze. But he had already checked the hallway. There was no one there, or so he thought.

He moved towards the door, ready to spring forth once again in an act of dashing, careless heroism. Instead, he found the door to be locked. The key to the door, typically kept on his desk, was gone. And the window was open.

Ocato was terrified. Only moments ago, the window was closed, keeping the wind out. Now open, a light breeze rolled through the room, brushing back his hair a bit. Through the window, the streets below could be seen, as well as the chirp of crickets. But no voices.

He rushed towards the window, looking outside to see if his assailant was hanging onto a ledge or something. There was nothing. He was prepared to scream for help, hopefully catch the attention of a guard.

"In answer to your previous question..." a soft, female voice spoke behind him. Before Ocato could turn around, he was grabbed, with a hand around his mouth and a sharp dagger against his throat. "Right behind you."

Ocato struggled, desperately trying to break free the grasp of this assassin. But it was to no avail. Help was so close, yet he could not summon it. His muffled cries didn't escape the window.

He was dragged by the assassin to the bed, where he was thrusted upon the bloodstained sheets, lying right next to the severed head of his guard. By the side of the bed, the assassin, clad in tight black leather armor with a hood concealing her face, sat with the dagger pointed straight at him.

"Scream," she said. "I dare you."

Ocato gulped. He rolled backwards, knocking the head off, which landed on the floor with a thump.

"Please," he began to beg, quietly, for fear of retribution. His eyes were wide with terror. Ocato didn't know where this assassin was from, or how she orchestrated this event, but he was primarily concerned with survival. "I'll do anything, please..."

His assailant flipped her hood down, revealing a pale face with shoulder-length brown hair. Pointed ears stuck out from the sides, and her eyes were a bright green. She was a wood elf. Immediately, Ocato could ascertain that she was sent from the Aldmeri Dominion. Of anyone who wanted to kill him, they'd be the most likely to succeed. And here was evidence that they were succeeding.

"Quit your whining, Chancellor," she spoke dismissively. "It won't do you any good."

Ocato was paralyzed with fear. He now knew what kind of mission she was on.

"Yes, I can see it in your eyes. It was all me. That poisoned beggar. Your guards. The door _and_ the window. You'd be amazed at what invisibility potions can do."

It all made sense now to him. That uncomfortable feeling, that aura around the night-time city, the suspicion of being watched. This assassin had laid a trap, and he'd walked right into it.

"Remember that rustle you heard in the bush? That wasn't me. But I was there. Watching, the whole time. Timing is essential, which is why I chose the perfect moment to shoot a poison dart at the dead man you gave your money."

"Who sent you?" Ocato stammered. He had so many questions, and he knew how little time there was.

"You know who sent me," she smirked. "And you know what I'm here for."

He couldn't speak. Ocato only shook violently with fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of a death come far too soon.

The assassin jumped onto the bed and grabbed Ocato by his collar. Hopping back onto the floor, her grip was stronger than expected for someone of such slim stature, as she pulled him back towards the window.

He complied. In the heat of the moment, Ocato wished he had something he could do, but found himself locked in place by fright and terror, completely submissive.

The Dominion agent put her arm around his chest, hugging him tight as she held the dagger close to his throat, ready to cut.

He looked out the window. There was a torch just yards away. Someone was passing by. He could call for help. But he knew what that would do for him.

As if she had read his mind, the assassin gave him a little nudge.

"Go ahead," she commanded. "Scream."

And with all his heart, Ocato let out a cry. He couldn't contain himself. He screamed as lout as he could to the streets below, catching the ear of anyone nearby. He yelled for help, in a state of desperation.

The assassin sliced his neck, sending blood spurting into the streets, as Ocato's pleas were cut short by an unpleasant gurgling sound. He didn't even let out a whimper as she dropped his body, letting it hang out of the open window as the cobblestone below was stained red.

The torch grew closer. The assassin took a glance outside. Looking around, she felt a sense of accomplishment.

 _The embassy will be pleased with this,_ she thought to herself.

Hearing the clanking of metal armor, she quickly reached into her pouch for a white vial of potion, her last one. The city watch was coming, and in good haste. She tipped it back and drank the coconut-flavored contents, as if it were a beverage straight from the beaches of Hammerfell.

She turned to shadow. Within ten seconds, townsfolk were lighting their bedroom candles, some had already made it outside. She looked to the end of the room, where there was another closed window. With swift grace, she jumped into it, busting open the pane, which flew and swung on its hinge.

The assassin leaped from the window, swinging on the green roof, and pulling herself up onto the top. No one could see her, and she could see everyone. It was perfect. The only remaining objective was to make it to the base of operations in Bravil. She'd steal a horse from Chestnut and ride south, or at least that was the plan.

With at least an hour on the hard-hitting potion she consumed, she was in no haste to get out now. So she listened, pleased, as the guards made their way upstairs and found that they had failed to protect the most important man on the entire continent. Utter failure. And that was just how she liked it.

The assassin sprung forth onto another flat roof, making her way across the houses to the wall, where she could jump over and hug the sides till she made it to the stable. And leaving the Imperial City, this being her first assignment in the location, she knew inside exactly what she had done. And in a way, she took pleasure in it. Knowing that she was the essential component in the recipe to make the Empire crumble. It wouldn't happen in a day, or a month. It would drag out over several years, decades even.

And given the longetivity of an elf, she was most pleased that she would be around to see it happen.


End file.
